Hot Shot (The King Brothers Book 3)

by Teagan Kade

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT

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  ALSO BY TEAGAN KADE:

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  Teagan Kade

  * * * * *

  Published by Teagan Kade

  Edited by Sennah Tate

  Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Kade

  COPYRIGHT

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  ALSO BY TEAGAN KADE:

  BRINGING IT HOME

  THROW DOWN

  THE LIFEGUARD

  LONG SCHLONG SILVER

  LIFE SUPPORT

  TROUSER SNAKE

  THE ROYAL TREATMENT

  BALLSY

  HOT PANTS

  SAVAGE

  VICE

  RECKLESS

  PUCK BUDDIES

  FERAL

  WINTER MIRACLE

  ADAGIO

  BRUTE

  BLAZE

  HUSTLE

  LAWLESS

  LONG GAME

  DEDICATION

  This one goes out to all the frontline workers. Your hustle means more than you know.

  CHAPTER ONE

  PHOENIX

  I’ve been staring at this bowl of cereal for far too long, lost in the milky cosmos of it. Unsurprisingly, the universe’s biggest questions remain unanswered when I finally decide to dip my spoon in.

  It’s quiet in the King household for a weekday, even with Peyton gone—too quiet. Nolan stumbles down the stairs right on cue, sliding into the kitchen wearing nothing but a tube sock.

  I let my spoon fall back into the bowl, nodding between his legs. “That to cover up the leprous look of your dick or you expecting someone?”

  He walks past me to the fridge, opening it and peering inside, closing it when he finds nothing to his liking. He perches himself on the end of the breakfast bar and selects a banana from the fruit bowl, peeling it slowly. “The latter.”

  “Who is she?” I ask. “Last I checked you had worked your way through Crestfall’s brain-challenged.”

  He shakes the banana at me. “Ah, but they are the best kind, dear brother. As they say, a real woman should make your dick hard, not your life.”

  I have to shake my head, scooping up another spoonful of cereal. “I swear to god, if you ever get married, I’ll eat my shoe.”

  Nolan bends over to look beneath the breakfast bar. “Hmm, nice pair of Jordans you got there, bro. It’s going to be an expensive meal.”

  I’m about to deliver a zinger of a comeback when there’s a knock at the door.

  Nolan raises an eyebrow. “Titus’s tutor girl?”

  I check the Hooter’s clock on the wall. “Nah, too early.”

  Nolan pushes himself off the bar. “I’ll get it.”

  I stand and hold him at bay. “Like hell. What if it’s the Girl Scouts, huh? They’d be scarred for life.”

  Nolan grabs his sock-clad dick. “It would be an education, though.”

  I shove him away and head for the door, checking the peephole before pulling it open.

  Jamie, our agent, stands there in a slick two-piece suit, shoes polished to mirror perfection—bit like his teeth. He puts them to work. “Phoenix! Just the King I’ve come to see.”

  I step aside and try not to sound too sarcastic. “Lucky me. Come in.”

  Jamie’s been around our family so long he doesn’t bat an eyelid when he sees a half-naked Nolan downing what’s left of my cereal. “One of those days, is it?” he asks.

  Nolan speaks through a mouthful of cereal, his bare ass cheeks the same ivory white as the breakfast bar. “You got a deal for me, Jamie?”

  “Not unless you’re looking for a two-for-one at Burger King, but they’ll come if you keep your game up.”

  “Let me know,” Nolan mumbles back.

  I hear Titus upstairs, shouting about the bathroom.

  “Sorry, bro!” Nolan yells back.

  “Come on,” I tell Jamie, leading him to the French doors that open to the outdoor area. I unlatch one and step out, closing it firmly behind Jamie and directing him to a deck chair by the pool.

  “Just a quick visit to see if you’ve made a decision yet.”

  I pick a deck chair and recline, taking out my Ray-Bans and slipping them into place while the pool casts white ribbons across the tiles. “I haven’t decided, no.”

  Jamie’s been on my case about this for a while. Graduation is looming and there’s a gravy train of NBA teams looking to sign me up. It’s all very hush-hush, but the offers are there… for a limited time if I were to believe Jamie.

  He sits on the edge of his deck chair popping open another button on his business shirt. “Look, Phoenix, these guys want you bad. I’m talking high-school-crush-asking-you-behind-the-bleachers bad. He takes out his cell, swiping up something. “You want perks? Chicago’s offering you a luxury apartment, lake views. Atlanta? They’ve got a snot green Lambo with your name on it… if you want it, and San An… Well, they told me on the downlow they can supply a steady stream of double D assistants more than happy to help with any pre-game jitters.”

  “They do like things bigger in Texas,” I muse.

  “So you’re leaning that way?” Jamie pushes.

  “Fuck no,” I reply sharply. “I told you, I haven’t made a decision.”

  Jamie’s working at his phone like it’s a pinball machine. “I’m emailing you a list of everything these guys are offering. For fuck’s sake, take a look and get back to me, because—”

  “These offers won’t last,” I finish, rolling my eyes beneath the smoky lenses of the Ray-Bans.

  Jamie stands, buttoning up his suit jacket. “That’s right, son. Make your pops proud. Choose a team.”

  I laugh. “Yes, because that’s exactly why I play ball, to make my father proud.”

  Jamie laughs back. “Phoenix, I don’t care if you’re the next Lebron.” He shakes his cell at me. “If you don’t make a decision, and fast,
the well’s going to dry up and you’ll be left on the court with dick in hand and nowhere to go.”

  I sit forward, sliding my legs back either side of the deck chair. “I got it.”

  “Good,” he nods. “Let me know,” and he’s off, evaporating through the French doors. I hear his Jag explode into life from the front drive, a screech of tires as he blasts his way down the street.

  The French doors reopen and Nolan steps out into the sun, still with my bowl in hand, tipping it back into his mouth to get the last drops of milk. The tube sock has slid further down, looks more like a sad windsock now. “What did the J-man want?”

  I recline back and place my head against the back of my arm. “What do you think?”

  Nolan stands in front of me, blocking the sun. “Sooner or later, you are going to have to choose a team.”

  “Who says?”

  In truth, it’s nothing to do with deciding and everything to go with mustering the enthusiasm to play basketball in the first place. I think of a life spent on the boards and I want to scream. I’m good at it, sure, but do I enjoy it? I really don’t know any more.

  Nolan hands me the breakfast bowl, placing it on my chest when I refuse to move. “Anyhow, nice talk.” He points back to the house. “Like I said, I’m expecting someone.”

  “And keep it quiet, will you?” I shout as he walks back to the house. “The last thing I need to hear today is you jackhammering some poor freshman through the wall.”

  “Who said we’d be inside?” he laughs back.

  And all I can do is lie there in the sun with the faintest of grins forming.

  *

  If there’s one constant in life, it’s Crestfall. One of the most elite sporting academies the US has to offer is nothing if not consistent. My father attended, his father attended and now I attend—doing my best not to fall asleep during class.

  The lecturer notices me dozing off. “Mr. King,” he exclaims, a loud shuffle as every eye in the room turns to me. “Care to join us, Mr. King, or should I roll out a mattress?”

  “The red carpet will suffice,” I smile, a murmur of laughter following. So close to graduation no one is looking to test the limits.

  The lecturer places his hands either side of the podium, smiling up at me. “Let’s just hope those magic hands of yours see you through, Mr. King.”

  I can’t even be bothered with a comeback. “Yes, sir,” I reply.

  I walk through campus in a daze. People stop to talk to me and I blurt out the usual macho nonsense. I pass through it all on autopilot, but as I get closer to the dining hall, things start to change. My heart beats faster, my senses become more aware and acute. Everything is sharper when I’m on the hunt.

  I pass one of our point guards, Terrance, on the way in. He jumps in front of me. “Phoenix, what the fuck you doing here? Slumming it up with the rest of us?”

  I shove him aside. “Hey, I pay my fees like everyone else. Thought I’d sample the goods for once.”

  Terrance laughs behind me. “Brother, ain’t nothing good in this place.”

  I raise a finger. “We shall see, young Terrance.”

  Someone’s saying my name to the left, a girl I think I got with last month waving from a table, but it’s all noise. I’ve come here for one reason and one reason alone.

  I join the line up front at the cafeteria and take a tray, the tank of a woman handing out cutlery surprised to see me. “Back for more, huh?”

  I rub my stomach. “The good lord himself couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Food poisoning might,” the guy behind me mumbles.

  It is true the food is not why I’m here, not why I’ve been here every day the last week.

  It’s an agonizing wait to get to her, the girl in front of me taking way too long asking if this is vegan or that is gluten-free. Move the hell on, Ellen! I want to shout, but I keep my cool, sliding my tray up to the reason I’m here.

  The girl on the other side of the counter is nothing like the Crestfall groupies I’m so used to. There’s a life to her, a grit you don’t see around here often. It could be the nose ring or maybe the cherry bomb tattoo peeking out from her sleeve, or maybe it’s just the fact she’s drop-dead fucking gorgeous, but I’m smitten.

  I’m smiling, lost in the hazel cornucopia of her eyes, but whatever charm I imagine I am projecting here, she is all but immune.

  “Well?” she asks, serving spoon in hand. “You going to stand there all day smiling like this is a special school or you going to tell me what you want?”

  I look down at the choice dining on offer, find it hard to tell if I’m looking at food or Play-Doh. “It all just looks so delicious.”

  I can see I’m testing her patience. She looks down the line, growing longer by the second. “Yellow or green, make a choice.”

  “Are those yams?” I point.

  “No, it’s duck à l'orange, wiseass. Yellow or green,” she repeats, more forcefully now.

  I keep the smile in place. “Surprise me.”

  She shakes her head and scoops up a spoonful of the yellow surprise, dumping it into a bowl and handing it to me. “Next!”

  “What?” I ask. “Not even a smile, a ‘Here you go, sir’?”

  She eyes me with such vaulted intensity I half expect to be cut in half. “Move. Along.”

  I put my hands up. “Jesus, I’m going, I’m going.”

  I continue on down the line, but I can’t stop myself looking back at her. This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to talk to her, and it won’t be the last. If it’s one thing us Kings have in spades, it’s a stubborn perseverance to get what we want, and I want her—bad. If I have to climb behind that counter and sweep her off her feet, I just might do it.

  No, you won’t, my head intervenes.

  It’s right. An entirely new, innovative approach is required here. The usual tactics are not working, which means we’ve got to go back to the drawing board and have a real think tank on how best to broach the subject of our impending coitus.

  I near the end of the line, looking back at her one final time expecting her to meet my eyes and smile, to tell me there’s the slightest chance I made an impression, but she gives me nothing. It’s all focus with her. I’ve simply got to direct it away from her job.

  I look down at the food, consider dumping it in the nearest bin.

  Why do you even keep coming back? I ask myself. But the answer’s clear.

  I can’t seem to stay away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HEATHER

  He’s back.

  It didn’t take me long to work out who Phoenix King is. ‘Crestfall’ and ‘King’ seem to go hand in hand. I’m surprised there’s not a giant banner of the brothers flying above the front gate. I expected to see the odd King around campus, but I did not expect to see one on my turf—that being the dining hall, or, as the students like to put it, Bombay Alley.

  Today marks the third time Phoenix has showed up and I know he’s sure as shit not coming back for the sloppy joes. I see the way he looks at me, fluttering those impossibly long eyelashes, letting those blueberry eyes do the heavy lifting. I’m sure he thinks those college parlor tricks are going to work on me, but he would be very, very wrong.

  He’s cute, yes, in an all-American kind of way. I will give him that. You don’t get a body like that from sitting on the sofa, and there is a certain allure to the sharp features of his face, the mystery, and no doubt wonder, within that gaze. I feel my body tighten when he approaches, the primal sexual pull being in his presence demands. But it can’t happen. It won’t. I’m sure his schedule’s more than full of field bunnies waiting to blow him and text their BFFs the following morning.

  So, it’s not a problem of attraction, because I am attracted to him. We’re simply too different for anything to come from it besides a booty call, and I have higher morals than that. My interest in that kind of relationship is approximately nil, so I ignore him and how he makes me feel every time he rocks up with t
ray in hand tossing me that ‘Oh, come on’ puppy dog pout.

  I know he’s watching me as he makes his way down the line. I keep my focus on the next student, waiting until Phoenix has his back to me before stealing a final, naughty peek.

  Never going to happen, I tell myself.

  I bring myself back to reality. “Yellow or green?”

  *

  It’s been a long shift. I’m going to be seeing peas and corn dogs in my dreams.

  Being a line cook at Crestfall wasn’t, of course, my first career choice, but it’s a means to an end. After a while you become an automaton—drop arm, scoop, deposit. It’s almost meditative after a while.

  The campus is quiet. Classes are long over and there’s only a rind of a moon above, leaving little light by which to navigate my way to the staff parking lot all the way down the back of the academy.

  There are lights on at the football field in the distance, the sounds carried across the air making whatever’s going on over there far more militaristic than sporting.

  I spot my car in the back row and hunt for my keys in my purse standing under the sole pool of light in the entire parking lot.

  I hear the steps, but I don’t see them coming.

  Something smashes into me from the side, hard, and I’m thrown to the ground, grit and gravel in my face. It’s only then I realize someone is above me, reaching down and trying to yank my handbag away, but I’m still holding onto it, clutching the strap like it’s the last lifeline from the Titanic.

  “Fucking let go,” the mugger spits, male, young, though his hood’s up and I can’t make out any details of his face.

  I keep my grip tight even though pain’s started to bloom in my side, my face, the hot flush of blood there.

  “Hey!”

  I can’t tell if it’s his voice or not.

  “Let go,” he repeats. He seems to stop, and I think I’ve won, that he’s about to run, but instead he draws his boot back. It lashes out, striking me full in the face.

  That’s enough to send the fight from me.

  I slacken, dimly aware of the handbag being pulled away.

  “You!”

  I groan, arms splayed out on the pavement, see the mugger running off to my right, someone else approaching from the hill, but my vision’s blurry at best.